


Survivors

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Community: fan_flashworks, Crying, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hugs, Post-Battle of Yavin, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 10:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12628776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: Wedge is reeling from the loss of Red Squadron at the Battle of Yavin. Hobbie puts things in perspective.





	Survivors

**Author's Note:**

> For fan_flashworks amnesty round; I chose "red." This doesn't jive with the new canon put forth in From a Certain Point of View, which I finally read between writing this fic and posting it now, and I was ready to feel bad about that - until none of those stories mentioned Hobbie at all. So I'm good.

It looks like a normal meteor shower, but Wedge knows better. The sparks that keep lighting up the sky of Yavin 4 aren't rocks and dust but the remains of battle: shards of the Death Star, wreckage from destroyed X-wings. The bodies of his friends and squadronmates.

_I'm hit – I can't stay with you!_

_Get clear, Wedge, you can't do any more good back there._

He closes his eyes, the battle still so clear in his mind. Lasers and explosions all around him, people dying, that second when he was sure he was next, but then his fighter holding together, Luke ordering him out. Hearing Biggs die as he returned safely to the base.

There are tears on Wedge's cheeks that he doesn't bother brushing away. Ever since it was formed, Red Squadron has been like his family. They were his friends, his brothers in arms. And now they're all gone, all dead, and he's left alone.

“Wedge.”

He starts upon hearing his name, eyes snapping open to see Hobbie having appeared next to him. The other man lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezes. His face isn't exactly dry, either. “You should come back inside,” he says.

Wedge shakes his head and looks back up at the sky, wincing as another light streaks across it. “I should be up there with them, Hobbie.”

Hobbie's grip on him tightens painfully. “Don't even say that. _Don't_.”

Wedge looks back at him, shocked by the emotion on his face. “It about killed me watching all of you up there without me,” Hobbie says, swallowing hard. “Listening in and hearing coms go silent one by one...” He shakes his head wordlessly. “I'm glad you came back, Wedge. If there had been none of you – I couldn't bear it.”

Wedge clamps his teeth on his lip, trying to keep his own emotions from spilling over. “But it's not fair,” he manages, voice small. “Why should I survive when all of them... And I just _left_. I abandoned them. If I hadn't left, Biggs might still-”

“Stop it!” Hobbie grabs both his shoulders, gives him a little shake. “You know you can't think like that. If you'd stayed up there with your ship like that, you'd be just as dead as Biggs and all the rest!”

“But-”

“And would you say the same thing about me?” Hobbie presses on, voice ragged. His fingers dig into Wedge's soft flesh. “I just sat down here for the whole battle. Should I be dead, too?”

“Of course not! You were-”

“It doesn't matter,” Hobbie insists. His eyes are glassy again, and it suddenly hits Wedge like a punch to the gut.

Hobbie feels as guilty as he does. As an alternate, he didn't even fly today; he was more powerless than Wedge. At least Wedge himself was up there for most of it. He remembers how maddening it was sitting out Scarif just a few days ago, and they'd only lost one person there.

“Hobbie...” Wedge doesn't know how to offer comfort, especially not when he hurts so much too, but he tries. He lifts his arms, spreads them, pulls Hobbie into him. He comes without protest, melting into the embrace, and then they're both crying again, wordlessly sharing their grief and guilt.

They stand there together for what feels like a long time. Wedge doesn't look at the sky again, only concentrates on the bit of Hobbie's blonde hair he can see in his periphery. When they finally calm a little and catch their breath, Hobbie is the first to speak.

“We really should go back inside.” He still sounds so sad, so tired. “Luke is back in the barracks alone. We should be with him.”

“I thought he was celebrating with the Princess and Han Solo.”

Hobbie shakes his head. “Came back a little while ago. He's really upset, too, Wedge. But he thinks since he's so new to the squadron, he's not allowed to mourn them like we are.”

“He told you that?” Wedge asks, surprised and confused.

“No, but I can tell. That's not so different than us once upon a time.”

He's right. And Luke _was_ a real part of them, in the end – he earned the right to fly with Red Squadron, and he succeeded where no one else did to win the day and save all of them. He has the right to grieve for his friends, even if they're new rather than old. Wedge suddenly wants more than anything to tell him that.

He wipes his cheeks, takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Yeah. We should go talk to him.”

“Yeah, I think so.” Hobbie gives Wedge a fragile smile and squeezes his arm one more time before stepping away. They walk back into the base together, and Wedge allows himself for a moment to think of the future. The three of them are sure to be the founding members of the reformed Red Squadron once it gets up and running again, and he'll be proud to share it with them and the new friends and comrades they're about to meet.


End file.
